


every tongue should confess

by redpaint



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Priests, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt, Supernatural Elements, dialogue-heavy, i have really lost my way now huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: Father Hamilton is the parish priest in a small English village. There's something strange going on in Sebastian's house.A story about love, faith, guilt, forgiveness, and acceptance.
Relationships: Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg (past), Lewis Hamilton/Sebastian Vettel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	every tongue should confess

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was an absolute beast to finish. I started thinking of a very different version of this story over the summer, but it slowly evolved into... this. Thank you so much to everyone who listened to me while I whined about writing this, without y'all it would have been relegated to the unfinished WIPs bin. Extra special huge thanks to [malter](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter) for going over plot issues with me and doing the final beta, you're the best!
> 
> Full warning and disclaimers: Lewis is... ambiguously Catholic. I didn't grow up in the church and I'm not English so all mistakes on those fronts are the products of my own ignorance. This fic contains _heavy_ internalized homophobia and homophobia between characters, a brief reference to suicide, as well as semi-graphic but brief descriptions of body horror.

Lewis was working on the Sunday sermon when his phone rang. He glanced down at the notebook. Why hadn’t he turned on airplane mode? He was on a roll; the perfect words were just on the tip of his tongue. The phone sounded again, insistent. He tossed his pen to the side and picked up.

“Hello?”

“Lewis?” Nowadays, no one called him that but his dad and Seb. It was comforting and jarring all at once.

“Hey Seb, what’s up?”

“I was hoping to talk to you in an official capacity.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair a little. “You know you don’t have to call ahead if you can’t make it to services tomorrow, I don’t take attendance.”

“As though you don’t give me grief whenever I miss it. But no, I’ll be there. I actually have an issue I’d like to talk to you about, could you stop by when you have a chance?” Lewis looked back over at the half-finished sermon, the bible nestled among the reference books and scrapped drafts. Hebrews 11 would be there when he got back. And Seb always helped him workshop the best sermons anyways. They could go in circles for hours, discussing themes and meaning, even though Seb wasn’t the most devout person in town by a mile. Lewis wondered sometimes if he was humoring him, but he decided he liked it even if he was.

“Sure, is it urgent? I could be over in twenty.”

“I don’t want to rush you—”

“I’ll be right over.” Lewis pulled a sweater on over his shirt to keep out the late autumn chill and paused a moment before grabbing the starched white collar as well. He had always thought of himself as Seb’s friend first and priest second. It was one of the few “normal” relationships he could say he had. But Seb had asked him for spiritual help before, and it required him to pull back, to view Seb as just another soul among many who needed his guidance. The collar was like a small piece of spiritual armor, a small physical barrier that reminded him of his purpose.

Sebastian was standing outside of the garage when he arrived, but Lewis was surprised to see that he wasn’t alone. He was facing a slim man with blonde hair, his arms crossed across his chest as he nodded patiently. The other man had his back to Lewis, but he was wearing a flashy leather jacket, just like the one—

 _Fuck,_ Lewis thought, then quickly asked for forgiveness. Was it too late to turn around and tell Seb that, actually, something had come up and they could talk at the church later? Lewis hesitated mid-step, but then Sebastian saw him, smiling over the other man’s shoulder and waving him over. The other man turned around to see who was coming.

“Lewis! What were the odds of seeing you here?” Nico flashed him a sharp smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You have a car in the shop as well?”

“No, just, you know, making the rounds, that’s all,” Lewis said, trying to return the grin. Seb’s brow furrowed a little at the lie, but, bless him, he didn’t say anything. Lewis didn’t even know why he didn’t just tell Nico the truth, there was nothing wrong with him meeting with parishioners, hell, even just his friends, but there was something about Nico that made all of his walls fly up at once.

“Good to see not much has changed around here,” Nico said. _Glad I got out of here_ more like. Lewis hated that he could still read the subtext under everything Nico said.

“Yeah, it’s been what, three years?” And he hated himself for counting.

“Almost, but Sebastian here is so good I still have to stop by here when something needs fixing.”

“I’m glad, and not just to take your money. She’s a beauty,” Sebastian said, a little dreamily, gazing up at the shiny silver car on the lift.

“You came all the way from Cambridge to get your car fixed?” Lewis asked.

“Fine, you got me. I’m also in town for a couple of days to hammer out a few business things with the old man. I can assure you it’s all incredibly boring. But regardless, the car needed a few things, and I certainly won’t be needing it while I’m here.” That, at least, was true. Sebastian’s shop was about as far away from the church as it could be while still being in the village, and it had taken him less than the promised twenty minutes to walk over.

“Well, give your father my best, and tell him I look forward to seeing him tomorrow,” Lewis said, trying his best to radiate religious placidity. It really wasn’t the elder Rosberg’s fault that his son was a twat.

“Of course.”

Seb cut in before Nico could say more, resting a hand on the crook of Lewis’s elbow and squeezing gently. “Sorry, but we were just finalizing some details about part specifications. If you can wait a minute or two I’ll be free to chat.”

“Alright, do you mind if I…” Lewis gestured with his head towards the car.

“As long as you don’t break anything,” Seb said with a wink, before turning back to Nico.

Lewis moved further into the garage, away from the conversation, from Nico’s voice. They chatted in incomprehensible German, but the sound of it still had the mocking edge that he had tried to forget over the years. He fiddled with his collar and looked around the shop in the hopes of distracting himself. It was small but tidy. As he scanned over the rows of wrenches laid out on the table, Lewis was struck with the realization of how few times he had actually been there. In all the years he had known Sebastian, going on a decade, he had only ever set foot in his shop, or the house behind it, a handful of times. They always seemed to meet in the park, the café, or, most often, at the rectory. Lewis did have the better TV set, after all.

He always passed the garage on his morning runs and sometimes, when he saw Seb working inside, he considered stopping, maybe having some tea and talking about the cars. If Seb flagged him down and offer to show him something under the hood, he would, no question. But the thought of inviting himself into Seb’s space, it feels like a violation of an unwritten rule he’s set for himself. Best not to.

He tried to imagine Sebastian in the garage alone instead, crouched under the car, squinting in concentration. Would he poke his tongue out, just a little, like he did when he was working on a devastating Scrabble play? Did he hum along to the shop radio like he did to Lewis’s? Or was he someone else entirely when he was here? Lewis was shocked by the urgency with which he wanted to know.

Nico’s voice was growing louder again. “Okay, great. I’ll see you on Tuesday then. And it was great to see you again Father.” He leaned on the last word with a familiar smugness. It was all Lewis could do to politely nod as Nico strode back towards the center of town.

Sebastian was still scribbling in a beat-up notebook as he walked back toward Lewis. “You two were close for a while, weren’t you?” He sounded distracted, just making small talk as he finished up his notes, but the question still put a pit in Lewis’s stomach.

“Yeah, he was very interested in his spiritual life.” _He was very interested in himself._

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgement, and set the notebook down on the desk. He looked back up at Lewis, fixing him with that stare that always bordered on intense. “So, I wanted to see you in person because I was worried if I told you on the phone you might laugh at me.”

“Aw, no, I promise whatever it is you can tell me,” Lewis tapped on his collar. It was coming in handy after all. “It’s all between you and me, and God of course.”

“Of course.” Sebastian looked down at his feet and cleared his throat. “So I think there’s something in my house.”

“Like rodents?”

“No, like, a presence. A ghost or a spirit or something. It feels evil.”

Lewis’s mouth went dry. Despite their close friendship, Sebastian had never been exceptionally devout, or even superstitious. He had always seemed pretty fearless, but there was an unmistakable edge of anxiety in his voice. “Excuse me? Are you sure?”

“See! I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry.”

“Wait, Sebastian, it’s alright. Why on earth do you think you might be visited by,” Lewis paused, searching for the right words, “by malicious spirits?”

“Let me show you something.”

Lewis followed him out of the shop and towards his house. While the garage was modern, all shiny stainless surfaces and arcane machines with scores of buttons and knobs, the squat cottage behind it looked as old as the village itself. It seemed like a miracle that it had running water, let alone electricity. Sebastian ushered him close to the window that overlooked the fallow front garden.

“See there? Look at the curtain. Every morning I wipe it away, and every afternoon it’s back.”

It took a second, but then Lewis spotted it. Thick drops of brown liquid hung off the edge of the curtain. It had fallen to the windowsill in some places, still wet. Lewis dabbed at it cautiously; it was foul-smelling and greasy between his fingers.

“I’ll admit, that’s pretty odd, but I’m not sure that it really meets the bar for demonic activity. Have you been frying a lot of things in here?” Lewis only asked because it was the only explanation that made sense; he knew Sebastian couldn’t cook for the life of him.

“No, but that’s not everything!” Lewis tensed at the frustration in Sebastian’s voice. “At night I’ve been hearing these horrible noises, like nails on a chalkboard, and there are these shadows that come out from nowhere and shapeshift right in front of me. I never know when it will happen, so I’m always just waiting for it. I swear I feel like I’m losing my mind.” Sebastian sat in one of the chairs at the small table, his shoulders hunched. Lewis hadn’t looked before, but now he could see the dark circles around Sebastian’s eyes. “And I have these terrible dreams. Awful things.” Lewis waited for him to elaborate, but he just stared down at the tabletop in silence.

“And how long has this been happening?” Lewis asked gently.

“Two weeks, maybe more. I didn’t know if I was just stressed or playing tricks on myself or something, but it’s every night. Please don’t tell me I’m crazy. I know how I sound.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Lewis said. Sebastian smiled at him, a tired smile that still made the whole situation seem a little more manageable.

“Anyways, I called because I thought you might know what to do.”

“Sebastian, I—the church doesn’t even officially recognize demonic possession. They don’t really teach you this kind of stuff in seminary.”

“No Demon Hunting 101?”

“Well, technically we are taught to administer deliverance to those who need it, but that tends to be saved for people, deeply troubled people, not haunted houses. Man, unless you’ve got some deep issues you’ve been hiding from me, I’m not sure it’s really what you need.”

Sebastian deflated a little more. He ran a hand through his hair and chewed his lip. “Could you try it anyway?”

Lewis hated seeing Sebastian so tense and unsure. He usually looked to him for the ease and grace with which he handled everything thrown at him. “Yeah, I suppose I could. I’ll have to read back over some books and gather some things. And you will have to be willing to do some work too. Some real hardcore godly stuff,” Lewis said and gave Sebastian’s ankle a playful kick.

“I’ll put on my best praying boots.”

Lewis took a step towards the door, then stopped. It was rude to ask, felt almost accusatory, but he would be negligent to leave before he did. If there was something else at work here he really needed to be prepared. “Sebastian, are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? You were really doing alright when this all started? If there’s a presence here it’s not just targeting the house. It’s targeting _you_.”

“I’ll be doing better when I’m no longer haunted. Possessed. Whatever.”

⁂

Lewis fell asleep on the couch, ensconced in the books he had pulled from the back of the cupboard. They were immense, dry tomes, all full of old men’s renderings of hell, animals with extra hooves and curling horns, the myriad marks of the beast that the faithful needed to watch out for.

In his dreams he heard the questioning sound of Sebastian’s voice, echoing Lewis? over and over and over. The rough texture of a beard under his fingers, the smell of hot metal, chapped lips on his, a feeling of inevitability mixed with molten hot lust. Ice cold hands on his wrists, a forked tongue sliding across his skin. A beast wearing Sebastian’s face that laughed as he woke up in a cold sweat.

He dragged himself off the couch and into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come again. Every time it threatened to overtake him, a fragment of the dream would come to mind and send a dizzying mix of heat and guilt through his body. If he could not secure his unconscious mind against temptation, then he would have to redouble his efforts to rise above it while awake.

He abandoned any hope of sleeping once the first birds began to chirp outside, instead making himself a cup of tea and sitting down to scratch out the last few lines of the morning sermon. He hated to be out of sorts when he preached, wanted the spiritual clarity that gave satisfaction and urgency to the words as he spoke them, but a decade of Sundays had taught him to get up and deliver no matter what. In just a few hours there would be a community huddled under the smoke-stained roof of the church, all looking to him, and he had no intention of letting them down.  
He got dressed in the rich silk robes and allowed himself a moment of vanity, smoothing out the skirts and admiring how they shimmered in the weak morning light. It was always odd—and gratifying—to see himself how the congregation must see him, not just an ordinary man, not just _Lewis_ , but a piece of the altar, a religious relic. Surrendering a little bit of himself to the otherworldly realm of belief. And this morning, in particular, he was glad to not be just Lewis for an hour.

He went out to prepare the altar and soon people began to filter into the pews. He quickly scanned the sermon one last time, underlining the important points and crossing out the redundancies. It was a little bare-bones but still serviceable. Faith in action. An easy enough topic to invigorate the gathered. The clock struck the hour and he looked up from the papers on the lectern. A sea of pleasant faces. For them, it was just Sunday. Except for Sebastian, flashing him a small smile from one of the back rows, clad in the same ill-fitting button-down he seemed to wear every time he came to one of Lewis’s services.

The phantom memory of kissing him made Lewis grasp the papers tightly, crumpling the edge. He took a deep breath and smoothed them out again. Everyone’s eyes were on him. This was not the time. He would be a model of triumph over temptation. He threw himself into the day’s selection, letting the familiar words fill him up and blot out everything else.

When the service was over he stood by the door as always, shaking the hands of the congregants as they left. He felt blessed by the normality of it. The usual suspects lingered to talk. Had he heard about the latest pregnancy announcement? Would there be another holiday coat drive this year? _Yes and yes, thank you for coming, have a blessed week._ He searched through the thinning crowd for Sebastian. Had he ducked out without Lewis noticing? He had hoped to at least set a time to meet at Sebastian’s house again, but he was nowhere to be found. Lewis took a mental note to text him and focused his attention back at the warm faces of the exiting churchgoers. After the last of them left, he started back down the aisle towards the altar.

“I’m glad I got to come today, you really haven’t lost your touch.” Lewis gritted his teeth at the sound of Nico’s voice. It echoed unnervingly around the high ceiling. How had he not noticed him standing there? “New dress?”

“Not that new. A few things do change around here, though,” Lewis replied. He opened his heart to charity and forgiveness. He would treat Nico like any other wayward son of God. He would.

“Not you though. Sitting there, felt like I could still be living in the old house, coming ‘round here for new episodes of Top Gear.”

“What made you come? I thought you decided it’s all superstition anyway.”

“Dad wanted to come, you know how he is. Figured I may as well.”

“Where is he?”

“Toilet.”

They stood in silence for a second. Lewis searched for something to say but came up empty-handed. Nico just looked at him, seemingly content to watch him squirm. Did he know how much the sight of him here, in Lewis’s space, made his skin crawl? Or was he just that oblivious, thinking that years of radio silence was a functional apology?

Lewis had a long list of things he would like to say to Nico, things he had rehearsed in his head until he caught himself with embarrassment. But they weren’t things he could say here, in the echoing hall with the looming-on-all-sides saints. His voice failed him in front of this congregation of one.

“Things have been going well with me,” Nico said unprompted. There was the insinuation that Lewis should have asked, but he found it difficult to care. No, no, no. Charity. Forgiveness. He gathered himself with a breath.

“Still teaching?”

“Yes, Catholic school actually, if you can believe.”

“It’s hard to imagine,” Lewis said, and it was the truth. He remembered Nico rooting for Lucifer when he read Paradise Lost. Lewis had no idea how he had convinced those stern Jesuits that he  
was worth trusting.

Nico smiled wryly. “It makes me think about you. I know it’s been a long time, but if you want to get coffee while I’m in town, I’d love to talk.”

Lewis froze. He didn’t know how to respond. He was saved by the creaking of door hinges as the elder Rosberg shuffled back into the hall. “There you are! I thought we agreed to meet by the car?”

“Sorry dad, we were just catching up,” Nico said.

“Not to worry, not to worry. Nothing wrong with you spending time with a man the caliber of Father Hamilton here.” Keke raised his eyebrows and looked at Lewis. “You were always a good influence on him.”

Nico raised his eyebrows but thankfully stayed silent.

“I would sure hope so, it’s in the job description. Spiritual guidance and all that,” Lewis said and gathered up the last of his papers. “I’m sorry, but it’s been a long morning. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course, of course. We’d best be going anyways. Thank you, Father! See you next week.” Keke headed back towards the door, followed by Nico. Before they slipped out, Nico turned back and winked. Bastard.

Where usually Sunday mornings left him refreshed, focused and with renewed faith in his purpose, this one left him exhausted. The vestments went back into the wardrobe, lifeless on the hanger. Lewis paused again at the modest mirror that hung on the wall. He saw himself, just a man. Except there in the corner was something new: a fine crack that spiderwebbed out across the glass. 

Had he missed it earlier? Now that he had seen it, it was impossible to ignore. The cracks cut his face into slightly mismatched puzzle pieces that refused to fit together. The mirror would have to go then; there was no point in keeping it around when it was liable to shatter. He went to lift it off the wall but froze when he spotted it—the frame was weeping a viscous brown liquid, pooling up in spots like blood on a scratch, welling up out of the wood itself. Lewis let go of the frame, but gobs of it stuck to his hands, burning slightly.

He had to believe that it was an odd coincidence. A change in humidity warping the wood, cracking the glass and releasing long-held sap. Spirits weren’t a contagious disease, and besides, what kind of demon would have the strength to inhabit a house of God? And what good was he as a target? His faith was strong.

⁂

_8:50 p.m._

_> Sorry I had to run back to the garage this morning, very busy weekend_

_> np, how is everything?  
> anything new?_

_> Everything’s great, you know, house is still trying to drive me insane. Flies have been a fun addition_

_> i’ve been researching and think there’s a lot we can try  
> do u have time tomorrow?_

_> in the evening?_

_> ok_

Lewis’s thumbs hovered over his phone. There was no reason for the invitation to give him pause; Seb had passed out in the spare room more than a few times over the years, after one too many glasses of wine with that week’s movie marathon.

 _you can always sleep here if you need to. i wouldn’t blame you, with the nightmares and everything_  
Though the rectory itself was certainly no dreamcatcher.

_I’m so exhausted that I don’t really want to leave the house. If the flies eat me alive then I leave all my stuff to you.  
See you tomorrow_

Lewis tossed his phone on the bedside table and rubbed his eyes. They were dry from the hours of reading off his ancient laptop, the cold fluorescent glow of the screen leaving lights dancing behind his eyelids. The whole effort was a bit pointless. Most of the information online was garbage anyways. It was all new-age websites with Web 1.0 graphic design warning him against negative auras and pagan curses. The Christian websites weren’t much better, just ominous statements about the power of the devil that unfailingly concluded with a book or DVD _for purchase now! Only four easy payments of £4.99!_

The lack of sleep was catching up to him; turning in for the night was really the best idea. He closed the laptop and switched off the lamp, mouthed his nightly prayer in silence, but sleep didn’t come. He searched for it, that exhaustion that had dogged him all day, but all he found were tendrils of fear, sly thoughts that made him toss and turn, as though he could turn his back on them.  
The walls creaked with the force of the autumn wind, a sound that usually faded into pleasant white noise but was now unbearably loud and unpredictable. Cold air crept under the sheets and chilled his feet. He closed his eyes tighter and began counting down from one hundred, a childhood habit he saved for the rare nights that he couldn’t sleep.

_99, 98, 97…_

A scraping sound came from above, probably a low-hanging branch of one of the pre-war maple trees harrying the shingled roof. The wind was really up now.

_75, 74, 73..._

It was likely just his anxiety in going to bed, but he couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t alone in the room. He was familiar with the feeling, knew what it was like when he prayed and he could feel Him watching and listening. It was that same hyperaware feeling. He breathed through it. No use in looking for monsters under the bed when he was trying to relax. He could see his room clearly in his head: the heavy old door and the crucifix above it. He was safe. Protected.

_41, 40, 39..._

A sharp pang of fear ran through him. It was strong enough that he sat up and clutched at his heart. Where had _that_ come from? He had just been on the edge of sleep, had felt its heavy weight pulling him down into the depths feet-first. He felt delirious, half-awake and half-asleep. The moon was bright, a little short of full but shining bleach white. It filtered through the trees and cast skeletal shadows that crept along the floor and up the walls. Lewis could swear he spotted eyes in the metamorphosing patterns as the branches swayed in the wind.

No, no, not again. Deep breath. Psalm 56:3. _When I am afraid, I put my trust in you._ He laid back down and closed his eyes. There was a lot to think about but it could all wait until morning. _99, 98, 97..._

There was something sticky on his hands and _oh,_ it was sweat, his fingertips sticking to Seb’s skin, there was so much of it to touch, the vast fields of his back, the soft curve of his thighs over coiled muscles. Seb’s hands, so much softer that he remembered, free from motor oil and grime, trailing over his chest, leaving lines that burned, an urgency that begged more, more, more. Lewis could feel himself talking but couldn’t understand the words. Sebastian understood, though. He moved his hand lower and grazed over the head of Lewis’s cock, feather-light, almost spectral. A wave of disembodied pleasure ran through him. It was as though he was already there, ready to come from only the slightest touch.

“This feels right,” Sebastian said, and it came through totally clear, though he didn’t exactly sound like himself. His accent was shifted slightly, like an impression of an impression. Lewis wanted to press his hips up into Seb’s hand but found himself paralyzed. He knew something was wrong an excruciating second before it happened. Desire still thrummed along his skin, needy, but all he could do was watch as Sebastian’s skin began to fall away in chunks, charred like the bark of a tree caught in a wildfire. He wasn’t flesh underneath. Instead, he was a mass of crackling black static, impenetrably dark and hungry. The terror Lewis felt was so immense, so heavy, that it weighed him down like a lead blanket. It compressed his chest, he couldn’t breathe, he was going to die like this, at the mercy of a devouring monster that had him powerless.

The void that used to be Sebastian’s face moved closer, as though it was inspecting him. A disembodied voice came from far away, mocking: “You’ve given up fighting.” His heart froze in his chest. Then static burned him from the inside out.

⁂

Lewis headed out from the church just before sunset. The sky was painted with creamy pinks and oranges, casting a warm glow over the town’s sparse streets. It was an odd contrast to the dark feeling twisting inside Lewis’s chest. He kept catching himself admiring the harsh beauty of the leafless trees against the clouds, forgetting for a moment why he has been on edge ever since he woke up. When he reached the garage, he paused. He could walk on. He could just make a loop and keep looking up and give himself a few minutes before he had to knock on the door that separated him from Sebastian and whatever else was living in that house.

The door opened anyway. Sebastian poked his head out. “Hey! Welcome back. Are you starting outside?”

Lewis grasped the straps of his bag a little tighter. “No, I’m coming in. Sorry, I was just,” he searched for an excuse, mortified at being caught, “just centering myself before we got going. It’s important to be prepared for spiritual work like this.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Do you still need a minute or—”

“We can start now,” Lewis said and walked past Sebastian into the house. He was immediately greeted by a small swarm of flies above the kitchen sink. The area was totally clean, the clutter pushed elsewhere, but still, the insects hovered. Seb closed the door softly behind him.

“So should I have bought some sage or rock salt or something?” Seb asked as Lewis unpacked his bag on the crowded table. The way he spoke made everything seem half like a joke. It was something Lewis usually loved about him, but today it grated against Lewis’s nerves.

“No way man. You’ve been watching too much TV.”

Sebastian pointed between them. “Pot. Kettle.”

Lewis snorted but kept pulling supplies from the bag. Reference books, probably twice as many as he needed. Two bottles of holy water. Set of anointing oils. A couple of sheets of flypaper that he had picked up at the hardware store. His fingers brushed against a set of wooden beads at the bottom of the bag. A rosary handed down by his father for his first communion. Years of handling had rubbed the designs nearly smooth. He wove it through his fingers and slipped it into his pocket, a comforting weight against his thigh.

“Remember, no promises about this. I’ve read all I can but it’s still way more of an art than a science.”

“I trust you. You’ve always had very good taste,” Seb said. Lewis hoped that this was one of those times that he was joking to avoid letting on he was nervous, like he did whenever they watched the season finale of Game of Thrones.

“Thanks, man. We should light these around the house,” he said and withdrew a small bundle of incense sticks from the front pocket of the bag. Seb plucked a few out of his hand and disappeared into the back. Lewis lit the remaining ones around the kitchen and living room. Soon the air was filled with a thick, sweet smell that brought back memories of Good Friday.

“What else?” Seb asked as emerged out of the back again.

“Here, take this.” Lewis handed him a bottle of holy water and a torn-out piece of notebook paper.

Seb squinted at the sheet. “These my lines?”

“I want you to go from corner to corner in every room, flick a few drops of water, and repeat what I wrote there.”

“Oh, are you sure? I mean, isn’t one prayer by you worth like, ten of mine?”

Sebastian’s faith in him would be flattering if it didn’t turn his stomach. “Your connection to this thing is very important. _You_ need to order it out of here and out of your life.”

“And all it takes is a few words and some water?”

“They’re just aids to your own intention. I’ll start in the back, blessing and purifying the space.”

Seb looked like he was about to ask a question, but he didn’t. He just nodded thoughtfully at the paper. “I’ve tried prayer, but maybe this will do the trick.”

Lewis headed down the short hallway and opened the furthest door. A bit of the pressure on his chest lifted as he moved away, letting him breathe a little more freely. No need to perform confidence and resolve when he was standing alone in the spare room, surrounded by dusty ski equipment and crates of old racing magazines. He could hear the cadence of Sebastian speaking in the living area. He shut the door, blocking it out.

The beads of the rosary ran over his fingers as he began the blessing. At first it felt wrong to say the words, their simple beauty ill at ease with the dirty feeling he couldn’t shake from under his skin. He took a breath and decided to start over. He forced himself to slow down, to focus on the meaning of what he was saying. Sebastian needed his help. This wasn’t about him.

When he finished in the spare room, he moved on to the door across the hall. Lewis was self-conscious of how he held himself in the space, not wanting to intrude further than he already was by touching Seb’s stuff. It felt deeply wrong, being in Seb’s bedroom without him, a new discovery after years of friendship. It was surprisingly tidy, given the pleasant mess in the rest of the house.  
The bed was made crisply, and a few books sat on the nightstand. Lewis spotted a familiar design on top of the pile: _Temptation,_ a book he must have lent him years ago and forgot to collect. It was once of his favorites from seminary, a long, dense read that was more of an academic treatise than a fire-and-brimstone screed. He wanted to pick it up, leaf through the footnoted pages and read his old annotations, but he didn’t. Instead, he grasped the rosary a little tighter and began the blessing again.

The rhythm of the prayer, how it circled back on itself, repeating words and phrases, pleas and invitations to the divine to enter this home and protect it from evil, mixed with the heady incense and the mindless circulation of the rosary, had a hypnotic effect. He closed his eyes to better focus but found himself detaching from the space, losing track of time as he spoke. There was a knock on the door. He jumped.

“Can I come in?” Seb asked from the hallway. The tension Lewis had somehow let go of while praying came back in a rush. This was Seb’s house, what was he even doing, standing around in here and keeping Seb out?

He yanked open the door to Seb’s apparent surprise. “All done in here,” he said and strode out into the hallway. “How’s your bit going?”

“It’s good,” Seb said, pausing to think. “It’s like I actually have some kind of power about what’s going on here. I don’t have to beg for my normal life back. I’m not sure what it is but it’s… comforting.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get on with the rest of the rooms.”

Lewis repeated the process over and over again, careful now not to lose himself too deeply in the process. He stayed alert for Seb’s return from the back, nodding at him but not breaking the rhythm of the prayer as he came to sit on the couch and watch. With Seb’s eyes on him, he heard his own voice as someone else would hear it, aware of every wobble and crack, every slip of enunciation. Seb always seemed to look at him with an investigative curiosity, and Lewis never usually minded except when it became all he could think about. How Seb saw him, the attention of one person more penetrating than that of an entire congregation. He imagined himself on the altar and finished the blessing with quiet conviction.

“All done?” he asked, nodding towards the bottle of holy water on the coffee table.

“I think so, unless you’ve got anything else you think I should do.”

“Well, there’s another thing I think we should try. I’m worried about you living in all this, how it may affect have affected you, spiritually.” Lewis twisted rosary beads between his thumb and forefinger. “I wanted to bless you, as well as the space.”

Seb’s eyebrows jumped in surprise. “And that’s something you can just do?”

“It’s not really standard operating procedure but I figured if we were already doing all this,” Lewis gestured around, “then it’s worth a shot. I really think you need some kind of protection.”

Seb nodded and sat up straight. “Okay then. How does it work, do I kneel or, no, that’s for being knighted isn’t it—”

Lewis’s stomach seized sickly. “No, uh, just standing is good. Here, hold out your hands, palms up.” Sebastian came to stand in front of him, closer than Lewis thought he would. He followed Lewis closely with his eyes, watching as he grabbed the sets of oils from the table. Lewis kept his eyes down, focusing first on the bottle labels and then on Seb’s hands, hovering between their chests.

Lewis had only ever done this before at the eldercare facility in the next town over. It had been years, but he remembered the papery skin of their hands, how they shook. Lewis had to cradle each hand in his own as he anointed them. He did the same then, muscle memory maybe, but Sebastian’s hands were warm, solid, and rough to the touch. Lewis could still feel his gaze on him. He wet his thumb in oil and drew the sign of the cross on each palm. A little more oil and he looked up. Seb, usually so appraising, was looking at him in a way so open and hopeful that it made his chest hurt. His finger shone in the warm lamplight as he raised it to Seb’s forehead, tracing the same pattern again.

“Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and—"

Several things happened at once. Seb closed his eyes at Lewis’s touch. Lewis imagined leaning forward and smelling the myrrh on his skin as he kissed his hands, his wrists, his neck. The window shattered with a loud crack.

Lewis pulled his hand away from Seb’s face as though he was burned on a hot stove. He took a step back as well for good measure. His lips tingled as a wave of dread rolled through him. He couldn’t. Never. Especially not with Seb, after all he’d been through. After how strong he had been.

Seb’s eyes flew open as he whipped his head around, spotting the shimmering mess under the window. He swore loudly in German and kicked a kitchen chair, knocking it back into the wall. A few shards of glass skated across the floor. “I don’t understand why it won’t stop!”

“This is, Seb, I don’t know, it’s highly unusual. I, we should, we need to leave.“ He could feel himself stammering, trying so hard to focus on the window, how Seb’s house was possessed and actively antagonistic, not just towards Seb, but to him too. Filling his head with the sensation of rough skin against his mouth. It was the presence that broke the window. He couldn’t let himself believe that it was a rebuke by God. He wouldn’t be able to live with the shame. He bit the inside of his cheek. Copper flooded out the taste of sin. The pain was clarifying, spurring him into action as he swept the books and bottles back into his bag.

“What, right now? What if it rains, what if someone sees the broken window and invites themselves in?” He pulled at his hair, glancing between Lewis and the window, indecision heightened by fear.

Lewis was already at the door. “You want to wait around and see what it breaks next?”

“Fuck. _Fuck._ Okay.” Seb quickly pulled the curtain over the broken window and followed him out. Night had swept over the village as they worked inside the house. The sparse streetlights were barely enough to illuminate the walk to the main road. The tall, angular shape of the garage seemed threatening in the dark, nothing visible within but shades of shadows. Lewis managed a glance behind them as they walked. Warm light still poured out of the intact windows. It sparkled like embers on the broken glass that littered the garden.

⁂

Lewis tossed Seb a set of spare pajamas: an old conference t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants that no one had claimed at last year’s fundraiser. He accepted them with a grin and retreated to the bathroom to change. It was a relief; Sebastian could be startlingly intimate and shameless when the mood struck him. Just over the summer, he had stripped off his own shirt as they watched the newest season of Black Mirror, playing it off with just a shrug and a mumbled, _“‘s too hot.”_ It _had_ been hot, positively tropical inside, but Lewis just sweated it out and piously did not look at Sebastian’s chest.

While Sebastian was gone, he put the kettle on and focused on the rumbling of the water to stop himself mentally rehearsing what he needed to say. He would be doing Seb a favor, admitting his limits, not letting them carry on with this ridiculous task that he was in no way qualified to guide them through. He would refer him on to someone else, someone more senior who had a greater will. Lewis would retreat for a few days, reread his favorite scriptures, recommit, and come away stronger. Then they could go back to the way they had been for years. They would go on walks and have coffee in the café and pause whatever show they were watching to have long, aimless, comfortable chats, and Lewis would be free from the weakness that made him read into it something more than companionship. Simple enough.

The kettle dinged. Lewis poured two mugs and brought them over to the low table in front of the worn, sagging sofa. He had always liked the look of two steaming cups on the table; just one tended to look a little lonely. Sebastian came around the corner, one hand messing with his hair. He stopped and smiled when he saw the tea. Lewis wanted to hold on to that smile as long as he could.

“Oh, it’s like you can read my mind. All I wanted was to have a cup of tea and then go immediately pass out so I can pretend this isn’t really happening.” He sat down in his usual spot and put his face over the steam. “And there’s something about the way you make it that I can’t nail down. Very British.”

“It’s just a dash of the holy spirit,” Lewis said with a wink, playing much more relaxed than he actually felt. As though this was just Sebastian coming over to watch TV or play Scrabble or any of the other perfectly boring and normal things they had done over the years.

Seb settled back into the couch with a sigh and looked at him. “So what’s next? What can we even try now?” He seemed eager, in contrast to Lewis’s exhaustion.  
Lewis took a long sip from his mug, searching for the words. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that I’m not strong enough to keep helping you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re of course welcome to stay here as long as you need to, I mean, no one ever uses the spare room and this place is a honest to God sanctuary, but I can’t be involved.”

Seb’s face fell. “Why?”

“I think my faith is being tested. You should get help from someone who is secure.”

“You’re having doubts? Why? Did you not see what I saw today? Seemed pretty cut and dry to me.”

“Not exactly,” Lewis said, carefully choosing what to say next. “It’s almost as though I doubt that I’m not doubting. I believe in God’s plan for me, but there are these forces, outside of my control, I fight them but even when I win I feel as though I shouldn’t have had to fight in the first place.” He was surprised by the emotion that came on at the admission. The shame he had been swallowing turned to exhaustion and relief, tears pricking his eyes. “I just want to do good and serve God. It shouldn’t be this hard.” He hated how his voice cracked. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, sitting up straighter. “I’m sorry, this really isn’t fair to you with everything that’s going on, but I can make some calls and have the church send someone else.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who has as much true faith as you. For years I’ve wished I could love God as much as you do. Why would I want anyone else’s help?”

“I’ve been weak.”

“You looked strong today. Purposeful.” Sebastian’s tone was so warm, so familiar. It turned Lewis’s stomach.

Lewis wrung his hands together in his lap. “You don’t understand. That thing, whatever it is, it has been sending me… visions. Of you. Sinful visions. Usually it’s when I sleep but today, in your house, I saw it just like it was really happening, and I didn’t stop myself, I—” Lewis’s body heaved in a silent sob. “Oh my God I’m a sinner, I didn’t want to have to fight it.”

“Do you have to? Isn’t that part of what you said about these things, they want to feed on your misery. Lewis, you’re fighting yourself.”

“How could you say that? It’s demonic! In every dream you become a horrible monster. Why would I want something like that?”

“Are you sure it isn’t twisting your own guilt back on you?”

“I deserve my guilt. God is guiding me back onto the true path.” Lewis had said it to himself so many times that it was second nature.

Sebastian turned to him. He looked sad; Lewis hated to be pitied, but the recognition of his struggle in Seb’s eyes was comforting. There was no one else in the village who knew. Seb put a hand on his knee. Lewis wanted to draw away. He couldn’t do even this small act of affection, not after today and how it left him feeling dirty to the bone. But even as he leaned away Sebastian followed him, bringing up his other hand to cup the back of Lewis’s neck and kiss him softly. His lips were so much softer than he could have ever imagined, and he smelled like the heavy incense they had burned inside his house.

It sent a thrill through Lewis’s body, an unmoderated longing and excitement that he hadn’t felt in years. It made his mouth water and fire run down his spine. But he knew how this ended. He tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Sebastian to grow fangs and tear him limb from limb so he could escape this dream that felt so real. But he didn’t. He just pulled back slightly, meeting Lewis’s gaze so close.

“I’m not a monster. You aren’t either,” Sebastian whispered, so soft that it made Lewis break out in goosebumps.

For a second Lewis could imagine that he was right. The sweet euphoria of it reeked with sin. He scrambled off the couch, wiping the taste of Seb from his mouth. He stammered. “Sebastian, what are you doing? You—you told me you’d prayed on your own temptations, overcome them.”

“I’m sorry, but I had to lie to you. I stopped fighting it and you know what? I didn’t burst into flames, I stopped suffering. And I’ve never felt closer to God in my life.”

“You’re being attacked by the forces of Hell!” He sounded hysterical, but he had no way to stop it. Sebastian was too real, too close, too calm. He couldn’t see the depths of his own fall.

“No, you don’t understand! I’ve always felt like this, for years, always wanted you, ever since I came here. I stopped fighting it all a long time ago, because if I didn’t I might have been dead. And if you think I have a demon to thank for my happiness well then that’s fine, that’s a part of me now. But _my_ God doesn’t want me dead.” There was real anger in Sebastian’s voice, tempered with sadness. Half of Lewis wanted to comfort him, but the other half recoiled. 

He slumped back against the wall, folding into himself. “Seb this isn’t you. I think the spirits are making you say things you don’t mean. They’re why you’re doing this. We can fight them together.” He wanted so badly to believe the words he said. He could barely whisper them, unable to look Sebastian in the eyes. “We make a good team.”

Sebastian put his head in his hands and took a shaky breath. The lines of muscle and bone in his back showed through the threadbare fabric of his shirt. Lewis fixed his gaze on the crucifix above his head instead. The strength it usually gave him was nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry, but—I never should have—” Sebastian mumbled softly, rubbing his face with his hands. He sighed and stood up on unsteady legs. It was like he had aged five years in as many minutes. “I think I should go find somewhere else to stay,” he said, heading for the door. “But I still want to take down that _thing,_ whatever it is. If you still want to as well, then call me in the morning.” He grabbed his things from the table and then he was gone.

His footsteps faded on the gravel path outside, but his smell lingered on his abandoned clothes, his half-empty mug awaiting his return on the coffee table. Lewis left it there. He felt as though he could see himself from above, how God saw him. He was the sole living thing in the house again. The solitude made his skin crawl.

The cold night air raked his skin as he crossed the lawn to the church. It was nearly pitch-black inside, but he didn’t mind. All the better to escape from himself, when there wasn’t enough light for him to distinguish his body from the building that always threatened to swallow him up. He took up an unfamiliar space in the pews, kneeled on the worn velvet cushion, and prayed until his knees went numb.

He woke up to the wailing of a sharp, loud siren. He bolted up off the pew and glanced around the dim room. It was still pitch-black outside, but dancing red and blue lights were coming in through the door. He had apparently left it open the night before; no wonder he was so cold. His teeth were chattering involuntarily. Another shriek of the siren made him jump. And there was something more than that: a few voices loudly talking over each other, in the staccato rhythm of panic.

Lewis bolted for the door, slippers sliding on the worn stone floor of the church. He smelled the smoke before he even made it outside. A small group of people huddled on the path were being herded away from the rectory by a stern-looking fireman. Their faces glowed warmly, despite the cool cast of the moon. Behind them, wispy flames licked out from the kitchen window and painted the whitewashed exterior a murky black.

“Oh my God,” he said, without thinking. It must have been loud enough for the group to hear; a few heads turned to him with surprise.

“Father Hamilton, you’re safe! Someone tell the fire brigade!”

“We were so worried, if you had been inside that house—”

They moved closer in a mass. He recognized voices, faces. Neighbors and parishioners, the lot of them. But he couldn’t respond, overcome by a thick, woozy feeling. He stumbled towards the memorial bench on the side of the path and sat unsteadily, drawing long, deliberate breaths like the monk at the interfaith exchange had once taught him to.

Maybe it was a miracle. Maybe that feeling that God was watching him, the one that drove him into the sanctuary to beg for forgiveness in the frigid darkness, was a blessing. A second chance. Proof that God was looking out for him, no matter his transgressions. Yet as he looked up and saw the fire hoses soaking his home, he couldn’t convince himself that this wasn’t a curse. A punishment. A trial meant for him, leaving Sebastian nothing more than unlucky collateral, the innocent bystander to the consequences of Lewis’s moral rot.

Heavy footsteps came up to the bench. The fire captain stood tall over him, blocking his view of the burned rectory.

“Father, I’m glad to see you’re alright. Are you prepared to answer a few questions for us?”

Lewis blinked hard and took a steadying breath. No matter what he was, he still had to speak for the church, present that assured face to the public. Had to look like someone who understood God’s plan. “Of course, of course. Is everything under control?”

“Yes, thankfully it didn’t spread much beyond the kitchen. We’re lucky that a neighbor was out walking his dog and spotted it early. Were you inside at the time of the fire?”

“No, I was in there,” Lewis said and gestured towards the church.

“And you didn’t hear or see anything?”

“Nothing but the siren. I was actually asleep until it woke me up.”

The man seemed unphased by the idea of him sleeping in the church. Most people seemed to assume that’s what he did anyway. “Do you have any idea of what might have caused it? Any malfunctioning appliances? Lit candles?”

He racked his brain for the quirks of the old kitchen. The stove was electric, finicky but safe. He always unplugged the toaster after using it. He’d put on the kettle but it was surge protected. His stomach turned to think of the carbonized remains of his life waiting for him inside. “Not that I can think of. Could you tell where exactly it started?”

“It’s hard to know for sure. It burned very intensely within the kitchen, so we can’t really distinguish a pattern. It’s a real miracle that it didn’t spread. With the old wood construction, this whole place could have been up in flames.” Sensing that Lewis was just as bewildered as he was, the chief put away his notebook and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m really sorry this happened. Do you have somewhere to stay for the evening?”

“Yeah, I can always head to the inn,” Lewis said, but then stopped himself. It was the middle of the night, and though he knew Mr. and Mrs. Turner would probably open up a room for him if he asked, and even pretend not to mind, he’d feel terrible. Not to mention he had left his wallet in the house. It would be burned black, soaked, or both. And if Sebastian had also decided to stay there, well, it was probably just better not to. “I don’t know, I’ll work something out.” He gave the chief the warmest, godliest smile he could manage in the hopes that he would decide to leave him alone to think. It worked like a charm.

“Here’s my card. I'll call to talk next steps.”

Lewis nodded and took the card. The chief walked back towards the truck. Luckily, Lewis had taken his phone to the church with him. He started a new contact with the number on the card, stalling what he already knew he was going to do. A very sane part of him was yelling at him not to do this, to just call one of the overeager parishioners and impose on them politely as possible. But he just scrolled down his contacts list to “R,” then back up to “D.”

**DO NOT ANSWER Nico Rosberg.**

Part of him burned in embarrassment at how childish he had been. Lewis steeled himself and hit the call button.

It rang for a long time, long enough for him to worry about it going to voicemail. He was running the mental math on whether it was worth it to leave a message when someone picked up.  
“Lewis?” Nico’s voice was thick with sleep, weak and scratchy. “It’s the middle of the night, why are you calling me?”

Fuck it, this was a mistake. He had time to come up with a bullshit excuse, _oops, called the wrong Nico, sorry about that_ , or maybe just hang up and avoid the whole town until Nico went back to Cambridge. “I, uh—” Lewis stammered. “There’s been a fire at my house.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” It was odd to hear genuine concern from him. In his memories Nico was always cutting, bitter. Never sympathetic.

“I’m, yeah, I wasn’t home at the time. But it’s pretty torn up right now, and I won’t be able to go back in for a while.” He didn’t want to ask, the words sticking in his throat, but he also didn’t want Nico to offer. To pity him. “I know it’s a bit odd, and late, but could I stay the night at yours?”

“Of course! Can you get here okay? Should I come get you?”

Lewis hadn’t even considered how he was going to get there. The Rosberg house was on a large plot at the edge of town, nestled at the end of a long, winding drive. The prospect of walking made Lewis’s exhausted bones ache. “Yeah, that would be—that would be great. I really appreciate this.”

“Are you at the church now?”

“Yeah, I’m outside.” He tucked his arms tighter against his ribs to try and keep off the cold. “Thanks, Nico.”

There were rustling sounds and the metallic clatter of keys on Nico’s end of the line. “I’ll be there in five.”

As he waited he imagined the cozy interior of Sebastian’s house. He had a huge couch that Lewis had crashed on once, two years ago, when the rectory was being fumigated for a nasty termite infestation. He had thought about that night a lot over the years. How comfortable he had felt, despite it being his first time ever there. How he almost didn’t want to go to sleep, like a kid at a sleepover. He shook off the memory. He was headed somewhere that was better for him. He had successfully pushed Nico out of his heart a long time ago, a feat he needed to remember how to repeat.

Nico’s sleek, low-slung car came around the bend, headlights flashing. Must have been what had Seb so busy on the weekend. Nico pulled up in front of him and he ducked in, heeding Nico’s soft warning to watch his head. They drove with the radio off, the stiff silence underscored by the hum of the engine. Nico occasionally glanced at him as he drove, but he mercifully said nothing. Thinking about talking to Nico and thinking about not talking to Nico were both exhausting, so Lewis stared out the window as they turned onto the drive.

The exterior of the house was illuminated by a sea of small landscaping lights, making it shine like a fortress against the dark forests surrounding it. Growing up, the extravagance of the place had been in turns fascinating and intimidating. It still held a certain power over him, the keeper of memories he would rather forget.

His feet still knew the path through the house he used to take to Nico’s bedroom, across the grand entry and up the wide, curved staircase. He might have walked straight in there without thinking if Nico hadn’t been leading the way, passing briskly by the door before stopping near the end of the hall. “I was thinking you could stay here? All the rooms around are empty or storage so it shouldn’t be too loud or anything, and if there’s a problem I’m just down the hall. We do have to make the bed though.”

“Oh, it’s alright, I’ll just crash under a blanket.”

“No way, it will be fast if we work together, come on.” Nico crossed the room to the closet and pulled out a stack of white linens. He tossed the fitted sheet to Lewis, who caught it more out of sheer reflex than anything. It was peculiar to work with Nico, even on this banal task. He had to watch and follow his movements, first the top corners, then the bottom ones, crouching down alongside him to fold the corners of the top sheet under. Nico ran a hand over the mattress to smooth out the layers. That hand had once run down his spine; goosebumps prickled in sympathy at the memory.

Lewis slipped off his shoes and stared at the bed warily. Nico regarded the room with a satisfied nod. “Anything else you need?”

Lewis just shook his head.

“A drink?” The clock read a quarter past one. There was no way sleep would find him before sunrise.

Yeah, fuck it. Why not? The house reminded him of late nights and regrets. “Sure,” Lewis said and followed Nico out of the room.

Nico poured them both strong doubles of scotch from a dusty crystal bottle nicked off the sideboard in the dining room. They stood in the kitchen, the rich marble island between them, illuminated only by the light over the sink. Drinking in the dark like they were teenagers again, happy to pass the lazy summers in a haze of newly discovered sins.

“So do they have any idea what started the fire?”

“No, they couldn’t say. I have no idea what it could have been. Old wiring, maybe, but the place was just inspected last year.” Lewis drank and hissed at the burn in the back of his throat. Whiskey was Nico’s drink, not his. “I’m just grateful the damage wasn’t worse.”

“And that you weren’t in the house. I mean, you have to have someone watching over you.”

Lewis snorted, the first warm fingers of alcohol spreading through him and letting his guard down by degrees. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You don’t think it’s lucky that you weren’t asleep in your bed when your house caught on fire in the middle of the night?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.” Nico was so obstinate. Once upon a time, it had been one of the things Lewis had liked about him.

“I don’t doubt someone’s watching over me. But I think it may have been a sign. The fire. A warning.”

“Lewis, accidents happen all the time. I don’t think—”

“No, it couldn’t have been a coincidence. Trust me, there’s been a lot of weird shit going on around here.”

Nico narrowed his eyes. “Do you actually want me to know what you’re on about or not?”

Lewis sighed and leaned on the counter. His body felt heavy even as his mind outran itself. Yesterday, Nico would have been the last person he wanted to talk to about this. God, he would have loved that, wouldn’t he? Lewis proving him right after all these years. But now Lewis was the one who was vindicated. He had spent years haunted by the possibility that Nico had been right about him, but the evidence was incontrovertible. He could finally lay it all to rest.

“Seb and I, I think we’ve been sinning, in our hearts.”

Nico tried and failed to hide his surprise. “You still—?”

“I’m still trying to live the way God wants me to. But it’s been clear that it’s not enough. Both of us, we’ve been followed by signs of demonic presence, but it’s ultimately up to me. I should have been stronger for both of us. I thought Seb had overcome temptation but it’s clear that I was not the person who should have helped him. I’ll be lucky if I haven’t damned us both.”

“What do you mean, signs of possession?”

“Aren’t you listening to me? All those years you tried to convince me that it was fine, that I and we were good and normal, but now that I’ve pledged my life to God he’s showing me how wrong you always were. I can’t believe it took me until now to really know. I haven’t been vigilant.” When he had imagined this conversation in his head, he has always been angry, full of passion and fire. But now he found himself desperate for Nico to really hear him. If he could understand the sin he had been living in and how it threatened both of them, then he could change. They both could.

Nico leaned towards him over the counter. “It wasn’t just the fire?”

“Fire, nightmares, windows and mirrors breaking, swarms of flies—”

“For how long?”

“The past few days. I know how you feel about my faith but this shit has been real, realer than real. It’s the clearest sign of God’s power I’ve ever seen and He’s fucking angry, man.”  
Nico took a long, slow sip from his drink, staring down at the swirling brown liquid. It was an odd look on him. Hesitation. Maybe even embarrassment. But he had never known Nico as anyone other than the kind of person who envisioned what they were going to do and did it, no wavering. Especially when Lewis had tried to dissuade him from his desires.

“Can I tell you something, about before I left?” Nico said into the glass.

The prospect made his heart race. He had wondered how long they would be able to avoid the subject. Not long enough. No matter what it was, it was sure to hurt. Thinking about Nico always hurt.

“Sure,” Lewis said, trying his best to hide the tremor in his voice.

“What I did was wrong, first of all. I want you to know that. Know that I know. But there was a time when I kept seeing you and Sebastian around. I could see it, the way you looked at him, and I was just honestly pissed at the hypocrisy. You were so high and mighty, going on about sin and your strength and my weakness. You had told me how sinful and evil I was, that I was damned just for admitting that I might be gay, but then you were off following around the next German guy who crossed your path. And I could just imagine what you would tell him if he read your signals correctly and thought you were interested.”

“I’m sorry that you were angry but you didn’t listen to me. You were trying to pull me off God’s path. At the time I was pretty angry with you too.”

Nico didn’t acknowledge him and just kept going, words coming out fast now. “I don’t know, I was messed up about it, and kind of drunk, so I made this silly thing, I googled how to curse someone and I followed the steps, just asked to curse you as long as you kept up this ridiculous facade—”

Lewis choked on his drink. A curse? Seriously? “Nico, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“And damn any future relationship if you couldn’t at least stop yourself dragging down other guys as well. There was a dark part of me that knew that you wouldn’t, that wanted to ruin whatever you two had going for you. But you could have ended it yourself, just embraced who you are and let yourself and others love how they want to and it would have been fine—”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Lewis said.

Nico’s eyebrows knitted in distress. “I wish I could. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was so stupid, and you’re right, I honestly didn’t think it would work, that anything would come of it. I  
forgot about it pretty quickly but when I ran into you at the garage it all came back and I was so ashamed of it all. There must be something about me being back here that triggered it.”

Lewis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Nico should have poured him triple. “But the fire at the rectory, I could have died!”

“I swear I had no idea what I was doing, I already felt awful just thinking I might have driven you away from someone who might actually be good for you, imagine how I feel now knowing about  
the fire and everything else. It should have never come this far.”

“Please don’t make this about you right now. You’re saying that you’re, what, a witch? With some kind of magic powers?” The thought was laughable. Nico had always been skeptical of superstition; he had been very clear about it when Lewis joined the priesthood. “You’re just afraid that I’m right and that God is punishing us now, while we can still change.”

“You really think with all the evil in the world he has time to come to the middle of nowhere and punish you? For what, thinking about loving another guy? Not even doing anything, just wanting? And why didn’t he strike you down when we were younger and just get it over with? We sure did a lot more than think.” That sounded more like the Nico he remembered. There was just enough of an edge to his voice now.

“We weren’t—” 

Nico stalked past him out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with the oppressive silence. Lewis considered putting the glasses in the sink and crashing on one of the insanely expensive couches, just lying down until the sun came up and he could slip out without having to see anyone. But then he heard soft, quick footsteps on the stairs, and Nico was back, tossing something solid onto the counter. It was a leather-bound notebook with a worn cover and with dog-eared pages.

There was a bright blue sticky note peeking out from the top edge, crumpled like it had been stuffed in a tight shelf or box. Nico nodded toward the book expectantly. Lewis opened it to the marked page.

_3/8/08_

“Oh.”

The page was full of a barely legible scrawl, overlaid with strange symbols. Some of it didn’t even look like English. He could pick out his own name among the mess, bracketed by a few choice profanities.

Nico looked down at the counter, his face pink. “Believe me now?”

There were too many things to ask, and a lot of answers he was afraid of getting. “You kept this?”

“Dad did. When I left town I brought some old sentimental stuff here for storage. It’s a miracle that I didn’t throw this one out.”

Lewis ran his fingers over the page. If this was really the truth, then it was hard to swallow. He had been right, in a way: someone _was_ trying to teach him a lesson. It was just very different from the one he’d imagined.

“Fine, so let’s say this is really what’s going on. If you cursed me, can you, like, uncurse me?”

“I’m really sorry, but I don’t think so. When I remembered it I went back and did some reading and—”

“So I’m cursed forever?”

“No, I was going to say you can uncurse yourself.”

Lewis scoffed. The whole conversation felt unreal. “So, let me get this straight, you do all this to me and I’m the one who has to make it right? Seems a bit unfair don’t you think?”

“You still don’t really understand why I did it, do you?”

“You said yourself that you were jealous and angry! I thought you said it was a mistake.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, since it was over ten years ago, but I was also pretty fucking hurt, okay? I thought you might remember what you said to me. How that might have made me feel. Do you know that you’re part of the reason I had to leave town? Because I kept seeing you around, having to make excuses not to go to church with my dad. When I tried to date other people I could hear your voice in my head telling me how sick and wrong I was. And it took me a long time to forgive you.” He took a shaky breath. “I realized that you were probably hurting in the same way, but just telling yourself that it was good and you deserved it.”

Lewis clutched his glass a little harder. Nico’s words felt like they came from some kind of opposite dimension. In his mind Nico had always been the one who hurt him, the one who instilled doubts and reveled in his own wrongness, desperate to drag Lewis down with him. The memory he had built of Nico, of an impressive but defeated villain, had felt deserved. Righteous even. The thought that Nico may have felt the same way about him filled him first with shock, then shame.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Lewis said, barely above a murmur. Had he? There had been a gnawing guilt in his stomach every time he cursed the sin of homosexuality. He had always blamed it on the desire that he just couldn’t quite let go of. He wouldn’t let that small part of him, the one that sounded so much like Nico, question if maybe he was wrong.

“I know,” Nico says gently. “I just, you had to stop hurting people. Yourself included. I thought once you let yourself try loving, without shame, maybe you could… I don’t know. I’m not saying you have to leave the priesthood and run the local pride parade, but I think as long as you shut yourself off from what you want, this thing is going to come after you.”

“Fuck, but I’m,” he paused, “the Bible says—”

“Will you at least try?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You’ve seen what happens when you don’t. And it’s not just the curse. You’re torturing yourself.”

“I—yeah.” He was quiet for a long while. His head was filled with questions, protestations, curses of his own. The prospect of not fighting was terrifying, paralyzing. Anything he could say felt wrong. Any position he could take he could also contradict with equal certainty. It made his head spin and his stomach turn. “I need some time to think. You should go to bed, it’s so late.” His glass was empty. So was Nico’s. He cleared them both into the sink. 

“I probably should, I’m meant to leave tomorrow.”

“Done with business?” It was both surreal and relieving to lurch back into small talk.

“For now.” Nico switched off the light and led them back up the stairs, the journal held under one arm. They paused at the landing. Lewis had no idea what to say after the conversation they had. ‘Good night’ felt too trivial and incomplete. He couldn’t imagine either of them would actually sleep. Nico went to open his door but Lewis, possessed with a sense of urgency, grabbed his hand. The poisonous anger he had carried for years was quickly turning over into deep regret, so massive it threatened to overtake him. He couldn’t let the moment go without saying something, no matter how inadequate. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. Really. You were my best friend and I was scared, but you deserved—you deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you,” Nico said quietly. He squeezed Lewis’s hand. Then he turned and slipped into his room.

⁂

Nico left town in the morning. He gave Lewis a ride back to the church on his way out. When he pulled up to the front door, he parked instead of just idling. Lewis faced him, unprepared for a goodbye. There was no satisfactory way to end this, was there? No promise he could make to Nico that they both could believe. His options stood before him like a firing squad.

Thankfully, Nico spoke first. “You’ll think about what I said, right? You’ll try it?”

 _God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability._ The verse came to him reflexively. He pushed it away. “Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice, do I?” he said, looking out the window at the caution tape hanging off the front door. The fire chief had called earlier to let him know that the rectory was structurally sound enough for him to come back. 

Everything would smell of smoke and dampness.

“Well, then just take care of yourself. And if you want to talk more, about any of this, you can always call me.” He bristled a little under Nico’s gentle concern, but for the first time in years the prospect of talking to him didn’t fill him with bottomless dread. He could even delete the DO NOT ANSWER from Nico’s contact name. Small steps.

Lewis nodded. “Okay. I think I might take you up on that. There’s been a lot to think about.” He smiles a little, in spite of himself. Understatement of the century. He opened the car door and the frigid morning air rushed in. Nico looked at him with a guarded smile. “Thanks for the ride, man. Let’s hope this works,” Lewis said, and slipped out. He had a lot of messes to clean up. He would start in the kitchen.

After three hours of scrubbing soot off the walls, he needed to rest. His shoulders burned and the lack of sleep was already wearing on him. The meditative movement and sound of the scrub pad against the wall had given him ample time to think about what it would really mean to break the curse. Could he let go of the things that he had protected himself with for so long? His anger towards Nico? The steadfast righteousness? The rules he made for himself that let him be close to Seb, but not too close? He tried to imagine living without them: just wanting, and letting himself want. Muting the voice that told him _bad, dirty, wrong, sinful._ Relief outweighed guilt tenfold.

He checked the time on his phone. It was nearly noon. Sebastian had said to call him in the morning. Was it too late? What was he even meant to say? _Sorry about last night, but I think I need to kiss you to break this curse?_ If that made Seb punch him in the face, Lewis wouldn’t blame him.

This wasn’t even about Seb anyway, not really. He could do this on his own. Just accept himself and move on. Let Seb enjoy the peace of no longer being cursed and of not being pursued by your friend who pushed you back into the closet under the threat of eternal damnation. The flies would die, the nightmares would end, and this could all fade away into a weird and unpleasant memory. But, maybe selfishly, Lewis wasn’t sure he could do it alone. He called Seb before he could talk himself out of it.

He was staying at the inn, but they met at the park instead. It was cold enough that they were the only ones out, alone except for the flocks of migrating birds. Seb must have found a change of clothes somewhere because he was bundled up in a large jacket and scarf. Lewis always believed he could think better when he was moving, so he headed down the path that wound around the park. At least with a little forward momentum, he felt like he might be moving towards something, reaching something.

“So less than twenty-four hours ago I was headed for hell, no question, and now you’re saying I was right?” Lewis could tell that Seb was moderating his anger for his own sake. He hated it. Seb deserved to be angry, and he deserved to hear it.

“I don’t know, I think part of me was ready to hear what Nico was telling me. I ignored it for a long time but I think I needed that push, you know? But you’re right, you have every reason to be mad, or suspicious, or to want nothing to do with me at this point, honestly.”

“You’re right.”

“At least I wanted you to know that you haven’t done anything wrong and the problems at your house, and the nightmares and stuff, they shouldn’t be getting any worse. I don’t really understand the timeline but I think it should just get better from here on out.”

“Oh, so next time I can expect just a broken glass or something, instead of a window?” Seb retorted, laced with chilly irony. His shoulders, bunched up tight against the cold, suddenly fell as he exhaled. “Sorry, I can see you’re trying, it’s just—this has been pretty awful. I’m tired.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Lewis said again. Maybe if he said it enough it might actually feel like it was something more than cheap talk. ”This never should have affected you.”

“Well, it’s been a lot more than just the curse stuff you know.”

“I know, I shouldn’t have—what I did to you was cruel. I’d understand if you didn’t want to forgive me.”

Seb nodded. “I would have written you off entirely if I didn’t see how badly you were hurting yourself.”

“You should have left me to it. You deserved so much better than that. And you could have avoided the whole curse mess, for good measure.”

“I couldn’t do that. You know, when you’re not being a complete asshole I actually quite like you. I might even care about you.”

Lewis wanted to respond in kind, tell Seb how much he cared about him too, but he stopped himself. Would he even want to hear someone who treated him like that to tell him he cared?  
Sebastian was quiet too, staring down at the road in front of them. The leaves crunched loudly under their feet as they circled the duck pond. “I was going to tell you how I felt anyway, I had it all planned out. I was rereading those books you gave me, to remember where you were coming from. I thought I knew exactly what to say to make you just drop your beliefs and run away with me. But then all this happened.”

“If only you had prepared a speech about a curse you put on me over ten years ago.”

“No, unfortunately, the role of savior of the repressed gay priest went the other German guy foolish enough to fall for you.”

“Yeah, lucky him.” Lewis blushed, both at the frank talk of Nico and the idea that Seb _fell for him._ That felt like something reserved for romance movies, not him. But if he imagined himself as a character in a movie it was easier to get out the words that felt so elusive, so dangerous. “I want to try and be better. And not just because I’m being forced to. I want to be happy, and when I imagine it I see that I’m happy with you. I want to try and show you that it could work. If you still want me.”

Sebastian rubbed his hand down his cheek, thinking. He paused on the side of the path and turned to face Lewis. “Are you going to stay in the priesthood?”

Lewis had asked himself the same thing all night, going over it in circles until he couldn’t think anymore and the morning light started to come through the windows. “It’s my life. I couldn’t leave it. And it’s not just me, it’s the town, the community. I couldn’t leave them either.” He carefully watched Sebastian’s face as he talked, well aware of the fine line he was walking. “I don’t think I have to give it up to be myself. At least not now. Maybe in the future it won’t work or they’ll find out and I’ll be out of a job but I know, personally, that I can love God and love you at the same time.” Lewis surprised himself with how easily the words came out. They never really said that, not even as friends, but it was true, it had been true for years, they both knew. But they also both knew what it meant for him to stay in the church. Sebastian was a deeply private person, but even he could want someone he didn’t have to love in secret.

“And if I don’t want to hide?” Seb asked quietly.

“Then I would let you go. You deserve love in the open, if that’s what you want.”

“And you? You don’t want that?”

“I do, I just—I chose my sacrifices a long time ago. And the normal way of doing love, gay or straight, it’s been off the table. But I’m not going to force you to make that sacrifice too.” _But I want you to._ He didn’t say it, wouldn’t, it wasn’t fair, but it was still painfully clear. If this was going to work, they would be loving within certain boundaries. The only reason he even dared to ask Seb to do this was that they had already done it for years, unacknowledged.

Seb was grinding the toe of his sneaker into the grass on the side of the path and chewing on his bottom lip. Lewis didn’t want to push him, but the silence was killing him. He looked out over the park, with its carpet of red and yellow leaves, to distract himself. The tips of his fingers were a bit numb. He looked back over when Seb cleared his throat.

“I think we should try it,” Sebastian said, determined.

“Okay,” Lewis replied, a little stunned by the relief that flooded his body and left his heart racing. “Okay.”

“Should I come over tonight? It’s Tuesday.” Tuesdays were Bake Off nights. He couldn’t believe that through all of this Seb remembered Bake Off night. He had to laugh. It was loud enough that it echoed a little against the bare autumn trees, across the duck pond.

“Yes, yeah, please. I’d love that,” he said, once he had caught his breath.

Lewis took the rest of the day to try and regain some sense of normalcy in his life. He answered his emails. He put away the books on demonology. He ran down to the store to grab a frozen vegan lasagne. He was never so happy to just do chores and spend a few hours thinking about something other than Seb, Nico, and himself. But as night rolled around, he felt himself growing twitchy, reminded of the open-endedness of what it meant to “try it”, the bright hot amalgam of hope and desire that grew brighter still when he thought about what a future with Sebastian could really mean.

Sebastian let himself in as always. He kicked off his shoes and glanced into the kitchen. There were still scorch marks above the stove. “I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said, dry as ever.

“Thanks, I was thinking of calling it witchcraft chic,” Lewis said. He stopped himself from cringing while he said it, just barely. Sebastian’s eyes always lit up when he got to focus in on the awkward unspoken things and make a crack at them. After a lifetime of avoiding awkwardness, Lewis was starting to see the appeal in Seb’s approach.

“I’ve got a glass of wine, do you want one?” he asked, already shuffling around in the glass cabinet. He had opened the bottle a little early, figuring if he was indulging in one temptation, another couldn’t hurt. A little pour before Seb arrived had quieted his nerves some, but not enough.

“Sure,” Seb replied, already sprawled out on the couch. How could he look so comfortable? In all reality, he looked exactly like he always did, watching Lewis move around the house with a soft smile, a common fixture in the living room, but to Lewis, it all seemed like something new altogether. Like the old comforts of their friendship were being ripped away in favor of something electric, seductive, and terrifying. They could just as easily fuck right there on the couch as they could sit and watch an hour of TV. He could just walk up and kiss him, knot his fingers into the wisps of unruly hair that glowed in the warm indoor light. The possibilities multiplied in his head. He just poured the glass of wine.

Sitting next to Seb, he felt too aware of everything he did. He second-guessed how he sat on the couch, how he genuinely gasped when a contestant’s cake fell apart before the judging, how quickly he was going through his wine. He couldn’t get comfortable, the lumpy cushions seeming to conspire against him. Seb noticed him fidgeting, and looked over. “What?” Lewis said defensively and stared straight ahead at the screen.

Sebastian just shrugged. “Nothing,” he said. His hand was dangerously close to Lewis’s side of the couch. Lewis glanced at the clock as the episode wore on. Only a few minutes left. It felt like a deadline for him to do _something,_ but he couldn’t decide on what.

When the credits rolled, Seb stretched and started feeling around for his car keys, the same routine he did every week. Usually, it was a welcome end to the night, a sign that Lewis would be able to close the door behind him and breathe an easy sigh of relief, protected by his aloneness in the house. Now seemed sad and premature, a lost opportunity.

“Actually, do you want to stay over?” Lewis blurted out, smiling a little to try and cover up how his voice shook. This was what Lewis had promised him. He was going to try. He would show Seb he could meet him halfway, and then some. He could be done with fear.

Seb set his keys back down and looked at Lewis with a kind of guarded optimism. “And you won’t run off to the church in the middle of the night? Or let me die in a blazing inferno?” he asked, smiling a little in a way that tempered Lewis’s embarrassment.

“Promise. If you stay I think I technically become unfuckwithable, magic-wise.” Lewis said, and immediately regretted it. “That’s not to say that I need you to stay, of course, if you don’t want to, or you’re still thinking—”

Sebastian moved his hand so his thumb could run over Lewis’s knuckles. It shut him up. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

It wasn’t until they were getting into bed that Lewis really came to terms with how odd it was. They hadn’t even kissed, not properly, anyways, and his first thought was to have Seb spend the night? It almost felt in line with the old trajectory of their relationship: intimacy without sexuality, at least not yet.

He still had to fight the reflex to look away when Seb pulled off his shirt and started in on his belt buckle. Lewis took a breath and let himself look properly this time, didn’t back out of it into comfortable ignorance.

The sight of Seb’s chest, soft and dusted with blonde hair, made his stomach flip. Seb seemed uncertain as well, stripped down to his boxers while Lewis was still wearing his sweatpants. But even in the dim light of the bedside lamp Lewis could see him looking as well. Maybe he was just gauging his reaction, but there was something a little hungrier in his eyes as well. Lewis had spent so long telling himself not to want that he hadn’t imagined what it would feel like to be wanted. He anchored himself that feeling. He chose it over the whispering guilt that told him he was wrong.

His bed felt too small for two. Everywhere his arms were, Seb’s were too. They both drew back when they touched until Lewis didn’t, letting his fingertips rest against the soft skin on the inside of Sebastian’s bicep. He was touching a man. In bed. Again. It was somehow scarier now than when he was a teenager.

Seb looked at him across the pillows. “We don’t have to do anything right now. I’m not expecting anything from you.” He was preternaturally perceptive, and sometimes it drove Lewis up the wall but now it was a blessing, drawing out the words from where they felt caught in his throat.

“When I said I wanted to show you I could be different, I meant it.”

“Sure, but if we’re going to have sex it shouldn’t be to prove a point.” Blunt as always.

“Okay,” Lewis said, nodding. He still turned his body so he was facing Seb’s side of the bed. His frank talk contrasted with how soft he looked, cheek sunk into the pillow, scruffy with a few days’ beard. It was everything that Lewis decided he loved about him, encapsulated. “Well, I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to for a long time,” he said, as confident as he could manage. It was an admission more to himself than anything, but Sebastian’s eyebrows pricked up. He still didn’t move though, gazing at Lewis from across the bed with hope in his eyes.

Lewis inched closer on the mattress. His legs brushed up against Seb’s, his hand coming up to rest on Seb’s chest. His heart was beating wildly under the skin. It matched his own. Each movement closer felt easier than the last, the rightness of feeling Seb’s hand brush his hip outweighing any lingering sense of wrongness.

He kissed him softly, at first, just a shadow of what he had dreamed of doing on so many guilty nights. Even that was intense, a full-body rush going through him. Sebastian’s lips melted against his own. The hand on his hip tightened slightly, but otherwise he let Lewis take the lead, let him inch forward until they were chest-to-chest and Lewis’s hand was in his hair so they could be closer and closer still.

Lewis licked over Seb’s bottom lip, into his mouth, and he could taste the red wine on Seb’s tongue, how it tasted sweeter coming from him than from the bottle. Seb’s hand ran over his back, trailed down his spine. He felt the tension inside him release under the touch; he was melting into the bed. He wanted to just do this forever. He would forgo water, food, air, if he could keep kissing Seb like this, keep him close. Sebastian’s lips on his, his hands on his body, those felt incredible, but the pure joy of not fighting himself, of relaxing into love and pleasure, was something more. It was as though he had been climbing a mountain his whole life, resigned to never getting to the top, but now the clouds were parting and he could see the peak, glorious and within reach.

⁂

“Are you sure you don’t want to just hire a professional?” Lewis asked, sizing up the remains of Sebastian’s front window. The broken glass was already cleared away, leaving just the empty frame, covered with a repurposed trash bag and fringed with the shredded remains of the mesh screen.

Sebastian scoffed at the suggestion. A pile of tools sat on the table. Seb had pulled them out of drawers, dug them up from out of boxes in the spare room, borrowed them from the garage, an absolute arsenal of DIY technologies. “Listen, if you can’t handle it I think I could manage on my own.” He affected sternness, but Lewis knew he was joking. He liked that he knew. Being with Seb could be familiar, if he let it.

“Oh shut up, I can handle it,” Lewis said and pushed up the sleeves of the old shirt he had worn for the occasion. He gave Sebastian a tentative, toothy smile. “Where should we start?”

**Author's Note:**

> title from Philippians 2:5-11:  
>  _and every tongue should confess  
>  that Jesus Christ is Lord,  
> to the glory of God the Father._
> 
> as always, find me on tumblr as [redpainterly](https://www.redpainterly.tumblr.com)


End file.
